Epictetus

A Greek philosopher of 1st and early 2nd
centuries C.E., and an exponent of Stoic ethics notable for the
consistency and power of his ethical thought and for effective methods
of teaching. Epictetus’s chief concerns are with integrity,
self-management, and personal freedom, which he advocates by demanding
of his students a thorough examination of two central ideas, the
capacity he terms ‘volition’ (prohairesis) and the
correct use of impressions (chrēsis tōn
phantasiōn). Heartfelt and satirical by turns, Epictetus has
had significant influence on the popular moralistic tradition, but he
is more than a moralizer; his lucid resystematization and challenging
application of Stoic ethics qualify him as an important philosopher in
his own right.

Born sometime in the 50s C.E. in Hierapolis, a Greek city of Asia
Minor, Epictetus spent a portion of his life as the slave of
Epaphroditus, an important administrator in the court of Nero. The
date at which he came to Rome is unknown, but it must have been either
prior to 68, at which time Epaphroditus fled the capital, or after the
accession of Domitian in 81, under whom Epaphroditus was allowed to
return and perhaps to resume his position. The circumstances of
Epictetus’s education are likewise unknown, except that he
studied for a time under Musonius Rufus, a Roman senator and Stoic
philosopher who taught intermittently at Rome. Eventually receiving
his freedom, he began lecturing on his own account but was forced to
leave the city, presumably by the edict of Domitian (in 89) banning
philosophers from the Italian peninsula. He then established his own
school at Nicopolis, an important cultural center in Epirus, on the
Adriatic coast of northwest Greece, and remained there teaching and
lecturing until his death around 135. The teaching represented in the
Discourses is that of his later career, around the year 108
by Millar’s (1965) dating, at which time he walked with a limp
attributed variously to arthritis or to physical abuse during his time
of slavery. Epictetus never married, but for reasons of benevolence he
late in life adopted a child whose parents could not provide for its
maintenance.

The major compilation of Epictetus’s teaching is the four-volume
work standardly referred to in English as the Discourses; it
was variously titled in antiquity. According to their preface, the
Discourses are not the writing of Epictetus but are
ghostwritten by the essayist and historiographer Arrian of Nicomedia in
an effort to convey the personal impact of his instruction. Although we
lack independent means of verification, we have reason to be confident
that the works we have represent Epictetus’s thought rather than
Arrian’s own: first, because the language employed is
koinē or common Greek rather than the sophisticated
literary language of Arrian’s other writings; and second because
the brusque, elliptical manner of expression, the precise philosophical
vocabulary, and the intellectual rigor of the content are quite
different from what Arrian produces elsewhere. A few scholars,
including especially Dobbin (1998), argue that Epictetus must have
composed them himself, the role of Arrian being merely to preserve a
mild fiction of orality.

The shorter Encheiridion (titled in English either
Manual or Handbook) is a brief abridgment of
the Discourses, apparently including the four or more
additional volumes of Discourses that circulated in antiquity.
As such it offers a much attenuated account which is of little
independent value for the understanding of Epictetus’s thought and
which at some points gives a misleading impression of his philosophical
motivations. There are also some quotations by other ancient authors
from the Discourses as they knew them. A few of these
fragments, notably those numbered by Schenkl 8, 9, and 14, are useful
supplements to our knowledge of Epictetus.

The standard Greek edition of all the above works is by Schenkl
(1916); for the Discourses, there is also a valuable edition
by Souilhé (4 vols., 1948–65) which includes a French
translation. Important English translations include the one
occasionally quoted in this article, a revision by Robin Hard (1995)
of the classic translation by Elizabeth Carter (1759). There is also a
slightly-abridged new translation by Robert Dobbin (2008). Dobbin
(1998) provides an extensive general introduction and notes to
accompany a translation of Discourses Book I.

The so-called “Golden Sayings” is a later compendium of
aphorisms drawn from the Discourses and
Encheiridion.

The essentials of Epictetus’s thought derive from the early or
foundational period of Stoicism, from the third-century writings of
Zeno of Citium, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus. Treatises he mentions by
title include Chrysippus’ On Choice, On Impulse, and
On the Possibles, and he also mentions reading in works by
Zeno, Cleanthes, Antipater, and Archedemus. Extant reports and
fragments of these and other Stoic works offer many points of
congruence with what we find in him.

It may still be the case that he accepts influence from other currents
in philosophy, or that he develops some ideas on his own. The clearest
instance of such influence concerns Plato, for Epictetus draws much
inspiration from the Socrates depicted in Plato’s shorter
dialogues. Comparisons can be drawn especially to the Socrates of
Plato’s Gorgias, with his fondness for give and take,
his willingness to challenge the hearer’s presuppositions, and
his optimism about what can be achieved through values
clarification. The Theaetetus may also have been influential
on Epictetus’s thinking about contemplation and the relation of
human to divine; see Bénatouïl 2013. Epictetus also knows
the Master Argument from Megarian philosophy (3rd c. BCE)
and even names Diodorus and Panthoides, although this knowledge might
easily have been drawn from Stoic treatises on logic (2.19.1–11;
see further Barnes 1997 ch. 3 and Crivelli in Scaltsas and Mason
2007).

An argument has sometimes been made for Aristotelian influence,
primarily because Epictetus’s favored term prohairesis
(see section 4.3 below) is prominent in Nicomachean Ethics
3.1–5 as a quasi-technical term (there usually translated
“choice” or “decision”). In particular, Dobbin
(1991) has suggested that Epictetus’s use of this term reflects
the influence of the early Aristotle commentaries (1st c.
BCE-1st c. CE), none of which has survived for our
inspection. But neither Aristotle nor any author in the Aristotelian
tradition is ever mentioned in the Discourses, and to obscure
an important connection is hardly in keeping with Epictetus’s
usual mode of presentation. It is better to make the provisional
assumption that his interest in volition derives, like other main
elements of his philosophy, from the early Stoa, though with greater
emphasis. Although the term prohairesis is only barely
attested in surviving accounts of early Stoic philosophy, there is some
evidence to suggest that it did play a significant role; see Graver
2003.

Epictetus never refers by name to the second century BCE Stoics
Panaetius and Posidonius, and although he has something in common with
Panaetius’s reported interest in practical ethics and role-based
responsibilities, the evidence hardly suffices for an influence claim.
References to other philosophers or schools are only in passing. He is
impressed with Cynicism, but sees it as a vocation to itinerant
teaching and bare-bones living rather than as a body of doctrine
(3.22). Epicureanism he identifies with the pleasure principle and
accordingly despises (3.7).

Any effort to come to grips with Epictetus’s thought must
proceed from an awareness of his chosen objectives. The philosopher we
meet in the Discourses seeks above all to foster ethical
development in others, keeping his personal intellectual satisfaction
strictly subordinate. Consequently we possess no point-by-point
exposition of his views. The themes he regards as most difficult for
students to internalize appear repeatedly and are developed and
expanded in many different ways. Other issues he treats sporadically
as the occasion arises, or omits them altogether, if he regards them
as inessential to moral development. His apparent inclination to hold
back some of his thinking, as well as the incomplete condition in
which the Discourses have been transmitted to us, make it
quite unsafe to draw any assumption about his views from silences or
gaps in the account we have. On the other hand, the recursive manner
of presentation makes it unlikely that the non-extant volumes broached
any entirely new themes.

Interpreters must be careful not to prejudge the question of
Epictetus’s relation to earlier Greek philosophy. While it is
evident that his principal contentions are substantially related to
earlier philosophical developments, claims concerning his relation to
the earlier Stoics, or possible philosophical innovations or shifts of
emphasis, must be governed by a healthy respect for the fragmentary
nature of our sources. We possess no comparable record of the oral
teaching that took place in the Hellenistic Stoa. Where corroborating
evidence exists in literary or doxographical works, we are justified in
describing his views as reformulations of the Stoic tradition;
otherwise the question of continuity should generally be left
open.

The linchpin of Epictetus’s entire philosophy is his account of
what it is to be a human being; that is, to be a rational mortal
creature. “Rational” as a descriptive term means that human
beings have the capacity to “use impressions” in a
reflective manner. Animals, like humans, use their impressions of the
world in that their behavior is guided by what they perceive their
circumstances to be. But human beings also examine the content of their
impressions to determine whether they are true or false; we have the
faculty of “assent” (1.6.12–22).

Assent is regulated by our awareness of logical consistency or
contradiction between the proposition under consideration and beliefs
that one already holds: when we are not aware of any contradiction, we
assent readily, but when we perceive a conflict we are strongly
constrained to reject one or the other of the conflicting views
(2.26.3). Thus Medea kills her children because she believes it is to
her advantage to do so; if someone were to show her clearly that she is
deceived in this belief, she would not do it (1.28.8). Our hatred of
being deceived, our inability to accept as true what we clearly see to
be false, is for Epictetus the most basic fact about human beings and
the most promising (1.28.1–5).

Equally important for him is that human rationality has as its
setting a maximally rational universe. His confidence in the
fundamental orderliness of all things is expressed in frequent
references to Zeus or “the god” as the designer and
administrator of the universe. There seems to be no question of
competition with any other deities or powers. Epictetus does sometimes
speak, conventionally for a Greek, of “gods” in the plural,
but Zeus remains unquestionably supreme: he enjoys having some company,
just as we do (3.13.4), but does not require assistance and cannot be
opposed.

Immanent rather than transcendent, Zeus inheres in, and may indeed be
identified with, the natural order. As such he is in theory fully
accessible to human comprehension in the same way as all objects and
events are accessible to our comprehension. With effort, rational
beings can come to understand Zeus as a person, a rational being with
thoughts and intentions like ours. That recognition inspires awe and
gratitude, a “hymn of praise” that it is our duty to offer
in each occasion of life (1.16.19).

God is the creator of humankind as of all else, and his attitude toward
us is one of complete benevolence. It is by his gift that we are
rational beings, and our rational nature qualifies us as his kindred.
More: our minds are actually fragments of Zeus’s mind,
“parts and offshoots of his own being” (1.14.6, 2.8.10–12).
When we make choices on our own account, we exercise the very same
power as governs the universe. Hence it can be said that Zeus has ceded
to us a portion of his governance (1.1.12).

It is, again, the capacity for choice that makes us accountable for
our own actions and states. Epictetus is particularly fond of exploring
the implications of this essentially Stoic conception. In studying his
usage it is helpful to remember that his favored term
prohairesis refers more often to the capacity for choice than
it does to particular acts of choosing. The word is variously
translated; the rendering “volition” is adopted here as in
Long 2002.

The volition, Epictetus argues, is “by nature unimpeded”
(1.17.21), and it is for this reason that freedom is for him an
inalienable characteristic of the human being. The very notion of a
capacity to make one’s own decisions implies as a matter of
logical necessity that those decisions are free of external compulsion;
otherwise they would not be decisions. But humans do have such a
capacity and are thus profoundly different from even the higher
animals, which deal with impressions merely in an unreflective way
(2.8).

It is the volition that is the real person, the true self of
the individual. Our convictions, attitudes, intentions and actions are
truly ours in a way that nothing else is; they are determined solely by
our use of impressions and thus internal to the sphere of volition. The
appearance and comfort of one’s body, one’s possessions,
one’s relationships with other people, the success or failure of
one’s projects, and one’s power and reputation in the world
are all merely contingent facts about a person, features of our
experience rather than characteristics of the self. These things are
all “externals”; that is, things external to the sphere of
volition.

This distinction between what is internal to the sphere of volition
and what is external to it is the foundation of Epictetus’s system
of value. What is ultimately worth having, the “good of
humankind,” consists in “a certain disposition of the
volition” (1.8.16). More explicitly, this disposition is the
condition of virtue, the proper expression of our rational nature, in
which we not only act correctly and on the basis of knowledge, but also
recognize our kinship to god and witness with joy the god’s
orderly management of the universe. This glad condition is the only
thing a person can properly desire.

We are not wrong to believe that whatever is good is advantageous to us
and worthy of unconditional pursuit, for this is just the
“preconception” (prolēpsis) of good which all
human beings possess (1.22). But we err in applying that preconception
to particular cases, for we frequently assume that external objects
have unconditional value. In reality, the various circumstances of our
lives are merely what the volition has to work with and cannot in
themselves be either good or bad. “The materials of action are
indifferent, but the use we make of them is not indifferent”
(2.5.1).

Admittedly some external things are more natural to us than others,
just as it is natural for a foot, considered solely for itself, to be
clean rather than muddy, and for an ear of grain to continue growing
rather than being cut. But this is only when we consider ourselves in
isolation rather than as parts of a larger whole. As Chrysippus says,
the foot if it had a mind would welcome becoming muddy for the sake of
the whole (2.6.11). Even one’s own death is of no particular
concern if that is what the orderly workings of the universe
require.

This does not mean that one is to be heedless of externals.
“Externals must be used with care, because their usage is not an
indifferent matter, yet at the same time with composure and
tranquility, because the material being used is indifferent”
(2.5.6). One can recognize that a thing is without ultimate value and
still act vigorously in pursuit of it, when doing so is in accordance
with one’s rational character. Epictetus offers the analogy of
ball players who recognize that the ball they are running after is of
no value in itself, and yet exert their full energy to catch it because
of the value they set on playing the game properly (2.5).

The revaluation of external objects brings with it a tremendous
sense of confidence and inner peace. Grief, fear, envy, desire, and
every form of anxiety, result from the incorrect supposition that
happiness is to be found outside oneself (2.16, 3.13.10, etc.). Like
earlier Stoics, Epictetus rejects the supposition that such emotions
are imposed on us by circumstances or internal forces and are largely
beyond our control. Our feelings, as well as our behavior, are an
expression of what seems right to us, conditioned by our judgments of
value (1.11.28–33). If we correct our judgments, our feelings will be
corrected as well.

The analysis is applicable also to feelings like anger and betrayal
which relate to the conduct of other people. The choices made by others
are of ethical significance only for the agents themselves; to anyone else they
are externals and so of no consequence. One should not, then, be angry
at Medea for her bad decision. Pity would be better than that, though
the really proper response, if one has the opportunity, would be to
help her to see her mistake (1.28).

Epictetus’s conception of emotional adjustment is not that one
should be “unfeeling like a statue” (3.2.4). Even the
wisest person may tremble or grow pale at some sudden danger, though
without false assent (fragment 9). More importantly, there are
affective responses it is right to have. “It is fitting to be
elated at the good”; that is, at the goods of soul (2.11.22;
3.7.7), and one should also experience the aversive feeling he calls
“caution” (eulabeia, 2.1.1–7) when
considering potential bad choices. Gratitude toward god is also
affective in nature (2.23). In addition, it is appropriate during the
period of ethical training to experience the pain of remorse as a
stimulus to ethical development (3.23.30–38).

In our relations with other people we are to be governed by the
attitudes Epictetus calls “modesty” (aidōs)
and “love of humanity”(philanthrōpia).
Modesty consists in an awareness of the perspective of others and a
readiness to curtail one’s own unseemly behavior; love of
humanity is a willingness to exert oneself on others’ behalf. The
latter extends especially toward those with whom we are associated by
our particular role in life: toward children if one is a parent, toward
husband or wife if one is married, and so on (2.10, 2.22.20). While our
best service to others is in helping them develop their own rational
nature, it is also entirely appropriate that we should act to further
the temporal interests of those to whom we are connected by birth or
situation.

It is a misconception to suppose that proper affection for friends and
family members necessarily leaves us vulnerable to debilitating
emotions when their welfare is threatened. Just as one can be fond of a
crystal goblet and yet not be upset when it breaks, having realized all
along that it was a fragile thing, so we should love our children,
siblings, and friends while also reminding ourselves of their mortality
(3.24). The primary relationship is with god; our human relationships
should never give us reason to reproach god but should enable us to
rejoice in the natural order. Concern for others, and enjoyment of
their company, is indeed part of human nature (3.13.5); whereas
irresponsible behavior driven by emotion is not. The father who remains
at the bedside of a desperately sick child behaves more, not less,
naturally than the one who runs away to weep (1.11).

Achieving the correct disposition of one’s capacity for choice
requires more than inclination. The learner must also undertake an
extensive program of self-examination and correction of views. While
ethical development is made easier by the direct instruction and
self-help techniques a teacher like Epictetus himself might provide, it
is also possible without such aid. It is indeed a capability inherent
in human nature, for the faculty that perceives and corrects errors of
judgment is the reasoning faculty itself. It is even possible to alter
such emotional dispositions as timorousness or quickness of temper,
through repeated practice in giving more appropriate responses (2.16,
2.18).

Our ability to improve our own dispositions also provides the implicit
answer to any question that might be asked about human autonomy in a
Zeus-governed universe. Since for Epictetus action is determined by
character (what seems right to an individual; 1.2) and not by
spontaneous impulses, some readers might be inclined to object that
this autonomy is only of a limited kind, for a person’s character
must itself have been assigned to him by Zeus, through the
circumstances of his birth and education. Epictetus would reply that
autonomy is guaranteed not by the absence of antecedent causes but by
the very nature of the reasoning faculty. Specific skills like
horsemanship make judgments about their own subject matter; the
reasoning faculty judges other things and also its own prior judgments.
When it performs this function well, the inherited character will
improve over time; otherwise it will deteriorate.

Zeus’s power is limited in that he cannot do what it is
logically impossible to do. He could not cause a person to be born
before his parents (1.12.28–29), and he could not have made
volition execute any choices but its own (1.1.23, 1.17.27). For the
same kind of reason, he could not, for all his benevolence, cause a
person’s body to be unimpeded in the way volition is unimpeded
(4.1.100). Our bodies do not in fact belong to us, since we cannot
always decide what will happen to them. There is therefore a clear
contrast in status between body and mind or soul. Epictetus repeatedly
uses language belittling the body or representing it as a mere
instrument of the mind: it is “pathetic little flesh,”
“cleverly molded clay,” a “little donkey”
(1.1.10, 1.3.5, 4.1.79). At least once he speaks of the body and
possessions together as “fetters” upon the mind (1.9.11),
language that recalls the image in Plato’s Phaedo of
the body as prison house. Still, Epictetus appears to prefer his own
school’s position on the mind’s material nature to the
Platonic view of it as a separate incorporeal substance; at least, he
speaks of the mind as “breath” (pneuma) that is
“infused” by god into the sense organs, and in one
striking image he describes the mind (again pneuma) as a
vessel of water entered by impressions as by rays of light
(3.3.20–22).

Epictetus draws a sharp distinction between book learning, i.e.
mastering the content of particular treatises, and what may be called
education for living, in which one acquires the attitudes and habits
that enable correct behavior. The latter is of paramount importance;
the former may be of instrumental value but if overemphasized may prove
a hindrance to ethical development.

The program of study offered in the school at Nicopolis included the
reading of philosophical treatises by Stoic authors of the Hellenistic
period, for instance the work On Impulse by Chrysippus
(1.4.14) and the logical writings of Archedemus (1.10.8). Frequent
references to formal logical schemata suggest that these, too, were
taught, as they had been in the curriculum of Musonius Rufus,
Epictetus’s own teacher at Rome (1.7.32; cf. 1.7.5–12). Learning
of this kind may be instrumental in developing one’s intellectual
acumen, just as the lead weights used by athletes in their exercises
serve to develop the muscles (1.4.13; 1.17). Finally, there is some
evidence for instruction in what the ancients called physics
(philosophy of nature); this is discussed by Barnes (1997).

Education for living is primarily self-education, a function of that
capacity for self-correction which is inherent in our rational nature.
Epictetus rejects the way of thinking that says moral improvement is
achievable only by divine assistance.

Have you not hands, fool? Has not god made them for you? Sit down
now and pray your nose may not run! Wipe it, rather, and do not blame
god. (2.16.11)

The example of Socrates serves to remind the hearer that
intellectual independence remains the primary objective. For while
Socrates teaches others, he is himself untaught or rather self-taught;
his unshakeable comprehension of ethical issues has been attained
through rigorous application of methods anyone might use. Admittedly,
Socrates was exceptionally gifted, and yet his achievement is what all
are born for and can at least hope to match (1.2.33–37).

Direct coaching by a philosophical teacher may nonetheless be of
assistance to persons seeking to correct their own dispositions.
Epictetus explains the process in Discourses 3.2. Above all,
one must attend to “desire and aversion”: one must correct
one’s emotional responses by pondering questions of value and
indifference, for desire or fear of objects outside one’s own
control results in a host of strong emotions that make one
“incapable of listening to reason” while experiencing them.
Further, one must study practical ethics, “the impulse to act and
not to act,” for vigorous action may be part of proper relations
to the gods, to family members, and to the state, and those actions
should be orderly and well-considered. Finally, one must attend to
one’s own reasoning processes, to “freedom from deception
and hasty judgment and in general whatever is concerned with
assent.” This last entails some study of logic, to prevent the
conclusions reached in the two principal areas of study from being
dislodged “even in dreams or drunkenness or melancholy.”
This however is a non-technical approach to logic, grounded in
essentials, in contrast to the sterile conundrums and oversubtle
analyses enjoyed by some of Epictetus’s contemporaries.

The actual process of self-improvement is initially a matter of
consciously slowing down one’s thought processes to allow for
reflection prior to assent. “Impression, wait for me a little.
Let me see what you are, and what you represent” (2.18.24). As
the habit of screening impressions becomes established, correct
responses will begin to come automatically. Yet constant vigilance is
still required, to guard against backsliding (4.3). One can never rely
solely on habituation.

More specific therapeutic techniques may also be of use to the one
making ethical progress. Epictetus recommends that pupils refrain from
using the terms “good” and “bad,” not because
those terms have no application in human life, but because they are too
easily misapplied. Thus one should “suppress” desire and
aversion, and use only plain, emotionally unadorned impulse and
counter-impulse (Encheiridion 2). To combat some individual
bad habit, one should practice the opposite behavior: for instance, if
one is quick tempered, one should accustom oneself to bearing insults
with patience (3.12.6–12). Regular self-examination at bedtime—a
practice borrowed from the Pythagorean tradition—will enable one
to correct errors before they become ingrained (3.10.1).

Occasionally Epictetus offers pre-professional advice to pupils who
intend to pursue a teaching career of their own. He chastises the
teacher who assigns a technical treatise in logic without providing any
preliminary training or assessing the pupil’s capabilities
(1.23.13). In Discourses 3.23.33 he distinguishes three
“modes” or “characters” of philosophical
discourse. The “protreptic” mode is that which convinces
hearers, singly or in groups, to care about philosophical study as a
means toward personal ethical development. The “elenctic”
mode, named from the Socratic elenchos, is more
confrontational and is aimed at removing false convictions, while the
“instructional” mode imparts sound doctrines. As Long
(2002) has noted, the three modes are associated respectively with
Diogenes the Cynic, with Socrates, and with Zeno of Citium, the founder
of the Stoic school (3.21.19; cf. 2.12.5).

Though much cultivated in person by the nobles of local Greek cities
(as Brunt 1997 describes), Epictetus exerted far more influence
through the written works produced by Arrian. The emperor Marcus
Aurelius was never in fact his pupil, but was so deeply impressed with
what he had read as to consider himself a follower of the freedman
philosopher. In the early third century Origen remarks on the
popularity of Epictetus with his own contemporaries, which he finds to
rival that of Plato (Contra Celsum 6.2). Whether Origen was
himself much influenced by Epictetus’s version of Stoicism is another
matter, for Origen had studied the writings of Chrysippus on his own
account and the strands cannot easily be separated. More demonstrable
is the homage paid to Epictetus by Simplicius, the sixth-century
Aristotle commentator, who composed a long philosophical commentary on
the
Encheiridion combining Stoic elements with his own
Neoplatonism.

The Encheiridion was translated into Latin by Poliziano in
1497 and during the subsequent two centuries became exceptionally
popular in Europe. Spanneut (1972) traces its use in monasteries in
superficially Christianized form. Seventeenth-century intellectuals
like Guillaume du Vair, Justus Lipsius, and Thomas Gataker generally
found Epictetus’s Stoicism to be fully compatible with
Christianity; see the discussion in Brooke (2006). Pascal reacted
against this perception; he admired Epictetus as a moralist but
regarded it as sheer arrogance to believe that the human psyche is part
of the divine and can be perfected by one’s own efforts.
Descartes adopted a recognizably Epictetan value system as part of his
personal ethics. An engagingly satirical portrayal of the potential
impact of Epictetus’s philosophy in contemporary American life may
be found in Tom Wolfe’s 1998 novel A Man in Full.

Epictetus: The Discourses as reported by Arrian, the Manual,
and Fragments, translated by W.A. Oldfather, 2 vols., Loeb Classical
Library, London and Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1925–1928.